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How Nigerian Government Gave Indicted Cocaine Trafficker Multi-million Dollar Supply Contract

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The investigation, which was done by Nigerian journalist, David Hundeyin and reported by West Africa Weekly, delves into how the rot in the system led to an embarrassing scarcity of passports for Nigerians at home and abroad.

This report exposes the rot, racketeering, ethnic nepotism, complete failure of due diligence, and how an indicted cocaine trafficker has come to control the supply of passports to Nigerian citizens.

The investigation, which was done by Nigerian journalist, David Hundeyin and reported by West Africa Weekly, delves into how the rot in the system led to an embarrassing scarcity of passports for Nigerians at home and abroad.

“We acknowledge and apologise for the challenges faced in the past few weeks regarding passport booklets availability. I am glad to inform you that booklets are now available and are being distributed to all our passport issuing centres.”

With these words on March 31, former Comptroller-General of the Nigeria Immigration Service (NIS) Babandede verbally signed a cheque that the NIS would subsequently fail to cash. Through the course of his tenure as CG, Nigerians had become used to chronic passport booklet shortage and the associated black market arbitrage, but the shortage had become acute by 2021. He needed to make a statement to reaffirm his competence.

Speaking at the commissioning of the Maitama Passport Express Centre – itself a master class in formalised black market arbitrage – Babandede made that statement, and then some. A special team would be dispatched to “facilitate enrollment and production” of passports across Nigeria and its foreign missions. New passport offices to service air passengers would be sited at the airports in Lagos, Kano and Abuja. The new “premium passport processing centre” in Abuja would cut the length of passport issuance and renewal from several weeks to just 72 hours.

Ultimately, Babandede’s statement turned out to be just that – a statement.

From when he made these pronouncements until his retirement earlier this month, passport booklets continued to be a scarce and expensive commodity in Nigeria. Several factors were blamed for the baffling inability of Africa’s most populous country to provide passports for its citizens. Chronic corruption at the NIS; disputes between the NIS and a private contractor responsible for printing booklets; scarcity of forex to pay for security printing materials; even an alleged unofficial government policy to stem brain drain by making passports hard to access – all these have variously been blamed for this state of affairs.

As is so often the case in Nigeria, no theory or explanation should be dismissed out of hand, which is why when I set out to find out what is really behind the perennial shortage of these little green booklets, I was prepared for anything. Or at least I thought I was. What would emerge as I sank my teeth into this however, was not a story about supply chain disruptions or government inefficiencies. It was nothing like I had ever seen before, which is saying something.

Think Transformers meets Black Mirror meets Karishika, with protagonists who are part Elon Musk, part Lawrence Anini and part Bakin Zuwo. There is a murder in New York; a million dollar cocaine deal in Bogotá. Court cases in New Jersey; a legitimate high tech manufacturing operation in Kuala Lumpur; art exhibitions in Lagos; high society marriages; prominent placement in lifestyle and celebrity magazines, and the most comically brazen lawbreaking hidden in plain sight. If this story were a movie, it would be the conceptual offspring of Michael Bay and Ugezu J. Ugezu, which is to say, low on plot and purpose, but high on sheer crash-bang value.

There are 3 main characters in this story. Their existence and relevance was determined after speaking to 5 different sources within the NIS ecosystem. These 3, more than any other people, have had the most influence on passport issuance and the wider state of the Immigration Service. Unsurprisingly, the first name on the list is immediate past CG Muhammad

None of my sources have any especially nice words to say about him, but neither do they have any bitter personal complaints either. The impression that comes through about Babandede is that of a fundamentally limited man who is neither virtuous nor especially malevolent. As one of the sources puts it frankly:

“He tried to make some moves such as the passport express centres, but it didn’t work out because he was just there to make money before he retired. He didn’t really care about fixing any systemic issues like staff motivation or the ISTL contract. All that one was not his business.”

The sources inform me that under Babandede’s tenure, complete opacity was institutionalised, with Immigration officers now not even knowing how much to expect on their payslip at the end of the month. Apparently during his tenure, NIS staff were migrated to the Integrated Payroll and Personnel information system (IPPIS), and with that went any sort of transparency regarding staff pay scales, deductions and entitlements. As a source colourfully puts it during one of our long conversations:

“It has now got to the point that you don’t know what will come in at the end of the month, and whatever it is that comes in – you just have to take it like that. The deductions vary every month so we don’t know how much we will take home. So tell me as a man with people depending on you, how else will you survive if not through ‘egunje’ (bribes)?”

While the sources mention different things that Babandede could have done to protect NIS staff welfare and morale, they all have one consistent criticism of him – his alleged ethnocentric posting policy. During his tenure they say, desirable NIS postings such as NIS offices in Lagos, were given exclusively to northerners, while the southerners working there were all posted out. The Ikoyi immigration office I am told, is now staffed almost exclusively by northerners – a state of affairs that would be impossible if the roles were reversed.

Under Babandede and even in these early days of his successor Idris Jere, the sources say, many northerners in the NIS, encouraged by the prebendalist disposition of their superiors, are keen to let everyone know that it is “their turn” and they are in power. Following Idris Jere’s appointment a source claims, the next most senior Deputy Comptroller – a southerner from Lagos – who might have been next in line to succeed Jere, was promptly transferred to Sokoto. At press time, I have been unable to independently verify this.

The other name that every source mentions is a certain “Liman” at the Ikoyi Passport Office. None of the sources bothers to hide how they feel about this fellow. This man and his extreme racketeering they say, is one of the major reasons behind Nigeria’s passport shortage. A bit of research brings up his name as Abdullahi I. Liman, a Deputy Comptroller in charge of the Ikoyi Passport Command of the NIS.

Every single source has a terrible story to tell about Abdullahi Liman. Liman they say, is responsible for the northernisation of the Ikoyi Passport Command. Even worse one source tells me, under Liman’s tenure, the atmosphere at the Command has taken on explicitly polarised ethnic and religious overtones. Take this anecdote from one of the sources for example:

“You can imagine that you are in the middle of doing a capture, then all of a sudden your colleague who is also capturing will just stand up and leave his station with a crowd of people there – because he says he is going to pray. You now end up doing his work for him, can you imagine that? This did not happen before Liman came in.”

Liman they say, is in the habit of pointedly using Hausa to converse with his subordinates at work, which automatically puts every southerner working under his command at a real career disadvantage. Speaking English – or in fact any other language but Hausa – at work is now a career demerit at the Ikoyi Passport Command under Liman’s watch.

A few days after I speak to this source, this story by the Foundation for Investigative Journalism was published, detailing persecution of a southern NIS officer at the Ikoyi Command in the exact ways described by my sources. Notice the reporter’s description of his interaction with Liman.

Up to this point, I have relied on testimony from sources I consider trustworthy, but even their knowledge of affairs at the NIS has its limits. While people like Abdullahi Liman are running rackets within the NIS to restrict access to passport booklets in large population centres like Lagos so as to create a lucrative black market, the sources are also clear that they believe that the NIS simply does not have enough passport booklets. To truly understand why the NIS appears to have not just a distribution problem, but also a supply problem with passport booklets, I had to figure out whose interests were served by the status quo.

First, a brief primer on how Nigeria’s passport system works.

Starting in 2003, Nigeria adopted the e-passport standard to defeat counterfeiting, resulting in a contract awarded to IRIS Smart Technologies Limited (ISTL) which commenced in 2007. The scope of the contract was to implement the Nigeria Harmonised ECOWAS Electronic (SMART) Passport Autogate Systems as well as to supply e-passport booklets, wafers, laminates and maintenance services from 2006 and 2015. ISTL is affiliated with Malaysia’s Iris Corp, which carries out the actual security printing services including supply of e-passport booklets.

The services that ISTL renders to the NIS include creating and maintaining the electronic database containing the passport details of Nigerian citizens, as well as maintaining the communication infrastructure that keeps a constant uplink between passport registration offices and the ISTL data centre. In case the reader has not seen the problem with this, allow me to spell it out clearly:

A private company working for a profit incentive has full and unrestricted access to the sensitive data of all Nigerian passport holders, but more importantly, it alone has access to this data. In other words, ISTL has more access to passport holders’ data than the NIS itself. ISTL does not actually produce passport booklets, but sub-contracts production to the Malaysian firm Iris Corp. Essentially, this company that most people have never heard of, controls a valuable sovereign database exclusively, and all it has to do is maintain a few dozen closed VSAT links from passport registration centres. Essentially, tech support.

This in fact caused a row between the NIS and the company in 2017 when the 10-year contract came up for renewal. Speaking to Daily Trust in 2017, some NIS insiders claimed the following: That the initial contract was a threat to national security because it vests control of the Country Signing Certification Authority (CSCA) – an official government seal – in ISTL, instead of the Nigerian government, which on paper is a risk factor for fraud;

That its implementation did not follow due process;

That the database and other infrastructure was paid for by the Nigerian government, but ISTL holds on to government property and uses tactics such as refusing to train NIS officers in the management of the system as a way to strong-arm the government into renewing its contract;

That NIS officers cannot conduct basic maintenance and repairs on the ISTL systems, meaning that the Nigerian government cannot withdraw from the ISTL contract without incurring catastrophic costs, which violates public procurement regulations;

That the contract had questionable exclusion clauses that gave undue advantage to ISTL at the expense of the Nigerian taxpayer.

The Malaysian company subcontracted by ISTL to print the booklets meanwhile, has found itself facing corruption probes by Malaysian authorities over its activities in other African e-passport jurisdictions such as Guinea. So putting this picture together, we have a tech support company that has somehow wrangled its way into a $138 million 10-year government contract (which was eventually renewed in 2019). Its main activity is maintaining equipment and an electronic database, and it sub-contracts passport booklet printing to a company halfway around the world whose executives have been arrested on corruption charges.

For the purpose of balance, it must be pointed out that the $138 million figure is not paid by the government, but rather comes from the company’s revenue generation activities within the scope of the e-passport project. It is also important to point out that the criticisms of the ISTL contract were possibly made in bad faith by individuals who merely wanted to replace ISTL with their own companies. Indeed, the senior NIS official quoted by the Daily Trust in 2017 remarked, “[The controversy] is between contractors who want the contract. The NIS’ concern is simply the supply of the booklets.”

It is also important to mention that the cost of sub-contracting Iris Corp to print the booklets is paid is USD, while ISTL’s revenue comes in naira, with the CBN refusing to provide forex for the company. This I am reliably informed, is the material reason behind the chronic booklet shortages since 2017 – the cost of printing passport booklets has more than doubled in dollar terms since 2015. Hence, ISTL simply cannot afford to print as many booklets as before.

With that being said, we now know that there is an incredibly lucky or powerful entity behind ISTL. Who is this person? This is where the story really takes a few turns, so hold on to your hats.

High Society Gentleman or Ex-Cocaine Trafficker?

On its website, ISTL describes itself as a “major subsidiary of the flagship company, Image Technologies Limited (Imagetech).” A quick CAC database check on Imagetech brings up the elusive character behind the curtain.

For a Lagos socialite, Olayinka Fisher is a man who somehow keeps a decidedly low profile. For one thing, while researching this story, establishing what exactly his name is turns out to be quite the task. In some places, he is “Yinka Fisher.” In some other places, he is “Olayinka Fisher.” In still other places, he is “Olayinka Fischer” or “Sonayon Fisher.” Only in a few places that he would rather the world did not know about, does his full and correctly spelled government name appear: “Olayinka Sonayon Fisher.” So who is this guy and what is there to him?

Quite a bit, as it turns out.

The story starts in Mr. Fisher’s previous iteration as a high flying Nigerian diplomat in in mid-to-late 1970s. At the time, when he was still known to the world as Olayinka Sonayon Fisher, he was the Second Secretary of the Nigerian Mission to the United Nations.

Researching the many variants of his name online, references to his diplomatic career can be seen right up until about 1980 when he seems to vanish off the face of the historical earth. In 1989, he resurfaces on CAC documents in Nigeria as the majority shareholder in a new company called Imagetech. Presumably at this point, the high-achieving diplomat has decided to pivot into a career in tech entrepreneurship. Nigeria being what it is, nobody ever really bothers to ask why, and by 2003 he is signing the contract above for ISTL under President Olusegun Obasanjo.

The good times are rolling. Following the end of his marriage to River State scion Doris Amachree, he weds Dr. Pius Okigbo’s daughter Anne. He becomes an avid art collector and patron of the arts. He hosts art exhibitions with the Spanish Embassy in Lagos, which are co-curated by both of his sons who share his love of the visual arts. To all intents and purposes, he is the SI unit of the classy and respectable old money Lagosian. There’s just one problem:

According to U.S. court records, Mr. Fisher allegedly used to be part of an intercontinental cocaine smuggling ring.

I obtain the following documents from the United States District Court for the District of New Jersey. They detail court proceedings from a 1983 case involving a violent drug dealer wanted for a murder in the Bronx, New York, a successful American businessman who dabbled into the illegal drug business with him, and a Nigerian diplomat who used his diplomatic immunity to traffic shipments of cocaine into the U.S. on their behalf.

The diplomat’s name? A certain Olayinka Sonayon Fisher.

According to Tracy Wong, the indicted American businessman, he paid Fisher the sum of $50,000 for a single shipment. The indictment further states that this arrangement lasted for at least 2 years with multiple Cocaine trafficking trips made worth several million dollars. Exactly how much Fisher made from this arrangement in total is a question only he can answer, but it certainly raises a few interesting questions.

Perhaps the most telling part of this story is that following the release of this NYT article and his subsequent exit from the diplomatic corps, Fisher appears to have intentionally dropped all mention of “Sonayon” from his name. In fact, it took the extraordinary step of making a few calls to my hometown Badagry, where the name “Sonayon” also originates from, to confirm his identity. The fact that this has somehow slipped under the radar for decades despite his custody of one of the most sensitive databases in Nigeria is a sign of a catastrophic failure of state intelligence and due diligence.

Making this point further, I speak to a lawyer, Solomon Igberaese to give his professional opinion of this issue. He points out that according to the Public Procurement Act 2007, someone with Fisher’s background should have been disqualified from the public procurement process. In his words:

“Falsification of fact can be interpreted to also include drug trafficking. Carrying out drug trafficking under any other guise will constitute falsification of fact. That he concealed packages inside diplomatic pouches certainly qualifies as falsification of fact. Again the section said falsification of facts relating to any matter.”

So there we have it – possibly the most mind-bending story in Nigeria’s rich history of dodgy public procurement and contracting. For added measure, the third person in the drug ring, a career drug dealer called Joseph Anthony Margarite was also wanted in connection with a murder at the time of his involvement with Wong and Fisher.

Culled from the Sahara Reporters  

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Books

‘My Life of Duty and Allegiance’ —An Elder Statesman’s Version of the Truth

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  • Book Title: My Life of Duty and Allegiance
  • Author: Yakubu Gowon
  • Publishers: Continuity Books.
  • Reviewer: Dr Emeaba O. Emeaba
  • Pages: 881

When a military ruler who presided over a nation’s most catastrophic civil war waits until his tenth decade to publish his memoirs, the reader expects either a profound exercise in grand self-justification or an unburdening of the conscience. In My Life of Duty and Allegiance, General Yakubu Gowon—who assumed power in Nigeria in 1966 at the astonishingly raw age of 31—attempts to give us both. What emerges across 881 densely packed pages is a deeply complex, often moving, yet fundamentally contradictory document: the work of an elder statesman striving to polish his historical legacy, even as his own words repeatedly fracture the varnish.

Gowon’s narrative arc follows a classic post-independence path. Raised in Daura and Wusasa by Christian missionary parents, he traces his early life with an endearing warmth, detailing his rapid ascent through Sandhurst and the Royal Military Academy into the elite officer corps of a newly independent Nigeria. But the heart of the volume, inevitably, is the thirty-month Nigerian Civil War (1967–1970), born of the widespread anti-Igbo pogroms that drove a traumatized populace back to the Eastern Region, where secession was declared not out of mere political ambition, but as a desperate, last-stand effort to protect a people facing systemic annihilation—and the turbulent decade of military rule that surrounded it.

To his credit, Gowon writes with an understated dignity that sets his work apart from the bombastic memoirs typical of West Africa’s mid-century military junta leaders. He paints himself not as a tyrant, but as a reluctant servant of statehood—a devout Christian officer forced by tragedy and duty to hold a fracturing federation together at all costs. His reflections on the post-war reconciliation era, anchored by his famous post-conflict decree of “No victor, no vanquished,” radiate a genuine desire to present himself as a noble unifier.

Yet, for all its graceful prose and pious framing, the memoir’s historical value lies less in what it succeeds in proving than in where it visibly falters under critical scrutiny. For historians and careful readers alike, My Life of Duty and Allegiance contains profound textual and factual fractures—moments where the author’s defensive manoeuvring unwittingly conflicts with established records and even his own narrative logic.

Consider Gowon’s account of the chaotic July 29, 1966 counter-coup that brought him to power. Seeking to distance himself from the brutal assassination of his predecessor, General Aguiyi-Ironsi, Gowon writes of an impulsive attempt to save the Supreme Commander by phoning the Ikeja airport to order a rescue helicopter under “Major Paul Dickson.” It is a dramatic, noble story—except that military archives establish there was no officer by that name in the armed forces; the only Paul Dickson present was an Air Force staff sergeant tasked with sentry duty. More damaging still is the author’s silence regarding documented transcripts from that very afternoon, in which he authorized the arrest of Ironsi by rebellious officers, famously pausing before asking, “Can you do it?”

This habit of offering personal alibis in place of historical accountability recurs at key junctures. Addressing the collapse of the crucial January 1967 Aburi Accord in Ghana—the peace agreement that represented the last diplomatic exit ramp before full-scale war—Gowon attributes his acquiescence to a “shivering fever,” claiming he was too ill upon returning to Lagos to make sound decisions. Yet audio recordings of the conference reveal a lucid, composed negotiator. The subsequent dismantling of the accord via Decree No. 8 was not the by-product of malaria, but a calculated political retreat orchestrated under heavy pressure from senior federal bureaucrats and military advisers who feared a loss of centralized revenue and power.

Perhaps most unsettling is the book’s arithmetic of tragedy. In describing the devastating human toll of the civil war—where federal blockades and famine devastated the civilian population—Gowon routinely reduces the casualties to “thousands who perished.” To reduce a conflict in which an estimated one to two million Biafran non-combatants died of starvation and military action to a mere “thousand” is not simply an exercise in semantic gobbledygook; it is an attempt to rewrite the scale of a national catastrophe.

When the text turns to post-war governance, the contradictions deepen. Gowon presents his fiscal policies and the post-war “Three Rs” (Reconstruction, Rehabilitation, and Reconciliation) as gestures of generous magnanimity. Yet he glosses over the brutal reality of the federal policy that awarded a flat sum of just £20 to returning Easterners regardless of their prior bank balances, alongside the controversial Abandoned Properties Act. To reconcile such economic penalization with the high-minded rhetoric of “No victor, no vanquished” requires a degree of cognitive dissonance that the memoir simply cannot sustain.

Similarly, Gowon defends his 1974 decision to indefinitely postpone the transition to civilian rule—a betrayal of his own promises that directly prompted his overthrow in 1975—by citing the political unreadiness of the nation. It is the classic, self-serving paradox of the military autocrat: claiming the nation is too fragile for democracy after nearly a decade of absolute military control without constructing the very institutions necessary to support it.

The performative nature of the memoir’s publication was further underscored at its public launch in Abuja, where General Theophilus Danjuma—the key officer behind the July 1966 operation against Ironsi that vaulted Gowon to supreme power—served as the event’s primary benefactor, donating a staggering ₦3 billion to the project. For critics, the spectacle was less an act of literary patronage than a symbolic closing of ranks among the war’s chief beneficiaries. That a former career officer whose vast post-military fortune stems not from industrial enterprise, manufacturing, or commercial risk, but from lucrative state-awarded discretionary oil concessions, could single-handedly underwrite the celebration of the regime’s official story speaks volumes. It highlights a troubling continuation of the “spoils of war”—a political economy where the wealth and historical narrative of the state remain firmly concentrated in the hands of the very men who reshaped it by force.

My Life of Duty and Allegiance remains an indispensable primary source. It offers an intimate, highly readable window into the mind of a leader who stood at the absolute epicentre of modern Africa’s most traumatic conflict. But readers seeking a candid historical accounting will be disappointed. General Gowon has given us an evidence of faith, duty, and deliberate selective memory. In trying so painstakingly to defend his record, the aging commander has inadvertently provided the very evidence that destabilizes his official history.

_________

♦ Dr. Emeaba, the author of “A Dictionary of Literature,” writes dime novels in the style of the Onitsha Market Literature sub-genre.

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Anthony Obi Ogbo

Can Nigerian Voters Replicate America’s Midterm Electoral Revolt?

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“Nigeria does not merely need a voters’ revolt. It needs an electoral revolution.” —Dr. Anthony Obi Ogbo

Over the past few days, I have been reflecting on America’s historic midterm elections and reading various analyses of the remarkable voter revolt against the political establishment. American voters demonstrated their willingness to punish political failure at the ballot box. But can Nigerians similarly defeat entrenched power when the very institutions entrusted with protecting their votes remain vulnerable to political interference?

America’s November 3 midterm elections delivered a devastating political verdict. Voters, frustrated by rising living costs, the Iran war, and growing dissatisfaction with President Donald Trump’s leadership, handed Democrats control of both chambers of Congress. Republican strongholds fell, political loyalties shifted, and voters demonstrated that incumbency is no insurance against public anger.

The message was unmistakable: when governance fails, the electorate can withdraw its mandate. But across Nigeria, the American revolt has inspired a provocative question: Can Nigerians replicate this electoral uprising in the 2027 presidential election?

The comparison is compelling, but the institutional realities are profoundly different.

Nigeria has no shortage of reasons for electoral rebellion. Economic hardship, persistent inflation, unemployment, deteriorating purchasing power, insecurity, and widespread distrust of government have created a deeply frustrated population. From kidnapping and rural banditry to failing infrastructure and declining public confidence, the country’s governance challenges demand serious political accountability.

Yet frustration alone does not remove a government. Elections do. And therein lies Nigeria’s democratic predicament.

In the United States, elections are administered through decentralized state and local institutions operating under federal and state laws. Election officials, courts, observers, and established legal procedures provide multiple layers of accountability. The system is imperfect, frequently litigated, and vulnerable to partisan disputes. Nevertheless, its decentralized structure makes nationwide electoral manipulation by a single executive authority considerably more difficult.

Nigeria operates differently. The Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) is constitutionally established as an independent institution. However, its chairman and national commissioners are appointed by the president, subject to Senate confirmation. This arrangement creates legitimate concerns about institutional autonomy, particularly when the appointing authority belongs to a political party contesting the elections.

Nigeria’s electoral history reinforces these concerns. The controversial 2007 presidential election exposed serious weaknesses in electoral administration. In 2015, however, Nigerians demonstrated that incumbency could be defeated when Goodluck Jonathan lost to Muhammadu Buhari. That historic transition remains powerful evidence that peaceful electoral change is possible.

But the 2023 presidential election again exposed institutional distrust. Disputes over electronic result transmission, transparency, and electoral procedures eventually reached the Supreme Court, which upheld President Bola Tinubu’s victory.

Courts are constitutionally empowered to resolve election disputes. The problem is not judicial involvement itself, but the perception that electoral outcomes increasingly depend on litigation rather than the unquestioned credibility of votes cast.

When citizens begin to believe that ballots are merely preliminary documents awaiting judicial interpretation, democracy suffers a dangerous credibility crisis.

Equally troubling is the protection of votes. INEC administers federal elections, while the Nigeria Police Force and other security agencies provide electoral security. These institutions operate within a centralized federal framework, raising concerns about executive influence over personnel, deployment, and operational independence.

How, then, can Nigerians stage an American-style electoral revolt when the institutions protecting their votes are themselves subjects of public suspicion? The answer requires more than opposition slogans, social media outrage, or massive political rallies.

First, Nigeria must constitutionally reform INEC’s appointment process. An independent, multipartisan selection mechanism, transparent public hearings, protected tenure, and guaranteed funding would reduce executive influence and strengthen electoral credibility.

Second, judicial independence must become nonnegotiable. Transparent appointments, financial autonomy, enforceable ethical standards, and expedited election petitions are essential. Courts must remain impartial arbiters, not become perceived substitutes for the electorate.

Third, electronic transmission and public verification of polling-unit results must become legally enforceable safeguards, supported by independent audits and meaningful penalties for manipulation.

Fourth, election security must be operationally insulated from partisan directives. Electoral offenses, including intimidation, ballot destruction, and result falsification, must attract swift and credible prosecution.

Voters must organize beyond ethnic loyalty

Finally, voters must organize beyond ethnic loyalty, religious sentiment, and online activism. They must register, mobilize, monitor polling units, document irregularities, and protect their electoral mandate through lawful civic participation. The ultimate tragedy of Nigerian democracy is not that citizens lack the courage to reject failed leadership. It is that they cannot consistently trust the machinery entrusted with translating their rejection into political change.

America’s midterms demonstrated the power of electoral accountability. Nigeria’s 2027 elections must confront a more fundamental question: whether the ballot remains stronger than the political establishment.

A democracy becomes a dangerous deception when citizens are permitted to vote but cannot confidently determine who wins. Nigeria does not merely need a voters’ revolt. It needs an electoral revolution in which institutions become stronger than incumbents, ballots become stronger than political influence, and the people’s verdict becomes stronger than the machinery of power.

♦ Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D., is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015)  and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us

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Education

Professor Josephine Onyido Earns Prestigious Nigerian Academy of Education Induction

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University of Port Harcourt scholar will be inducted into Nigeria’s apex education academy in Abuja, marking another milestone in a career spanning teaching, research, leadership, mentorship and advocacy

HOUSTON, TEXAS — Professor Josephine Azuka Onyido, an accomplished scholar and academic leader at the University of Port Harcourt, will be inducted into the Nigerian Academy of Education on Wednesday, November 4, 2026, in recognition of her contributions to the advancement of education.

The ceremony, scheduled for the Conference Hall of the National Commission for Colleges of Education in Abuja, places Onyido among scholars recognized for sustained contributions to education, research, and academic development in Nigeria.

A Professor in the Department of Educational Foundations at the University of Port Harcourt, Onyido has built a career encompassing teaching, research, administration, mentorship, curriculum development, and institutional service.

She described the forthcoming recognition as both an honor and a renewed obligation to education. “I receive this recognition with profound gratitude and humility. My journey in education has always been driven by the belief that scholarship must extend beyond the classroom and contribute meaningfully to society. This induction is not simply a personal achievement; it strengthens my responsibility to continue advancing quality education, mentoring future scholars, and promoting opportunities for women and girls. I am deeply grateful to my family, colleagues, students, and everyone who has been part of this journey.”

Onyido earned a Bachelor of Arts in Education (English), a Master of Education, and a Ph.D. in Sociology of Education. She is also a permanent member of the University of Port Harcourt Senate. Her scholarly record includes more than 90 journal articles, book chapters and Sociology of Education Made Easy, a textbook developed to make concepts in the discipline more accessible to students.

Much of her research examines the intersection of education and society, with particular emphasis on gender, women’s empowerment, educational development, social justice and the rights of women and girls. Her work advocates translating academic research into policies and practices that expand educational opportunities and strengthen human-capital development.

Beyond research, Onyido has occupied several academic leadership positions. She served as Acting Head of the Department of Educational Foundations from 2021 to 2023 and has worked as the Departmental Coordinator of Postgraduate Programs, the Anti-Plagiarism Coordinator, the Academic Adviser, and the Editor of the Port Harcourt Journal of Education Studies.

Her influence also extends beyond her university. She has served as an external examiner for several institutions and has participated as a resource person for the National Teachers’ Institute, the University of Port Harcourt, the Centers for Higher Education and Sandwich Programs, and the National Universities Commission verification exercise.

Internationally, Onyido represented the Niger Delta Development Commission at the African Women in Leadership Conference in Kigali, Rwanda, expanding her engagement with issues of women’s leadership, empowerment, and social transformation.

She belongs to several professional organizations, including the Teachers Registration Council of Nigeria, the Association of Sociologists of Education of Nigeria, and the International Association for Gender Equity.

Her academic and community work have earned numerous recognitions, including the Millennium Development Ambassador Award, Lecturer of the Year, Outstanding Project Supervisor, and Professional Service awards.

Yet Onyido’s story also reaches deeply into heritage and service. She is the great-great-granddaughter of King Josiah Constance Ockiya, MINGI VII, Amanyanabo of Nembe Kingdom and Supreme King of Brass. Her great-grandfather, Rev. Daniel Ockiya, translated the Bible into the Nembe language.

A committed Catholic and Jerusalem pilgrim, she has also served in church and community leadership positions and was recognized by the Catholic Women Organization of the Port Harcourt Diocese as a “Quintessential Woman.”

For Onyido, the November 4 induction represents more than another distinction on an extensive academic résumé. It recognizes a career built around an enduring principle: education achieves its greatest value when knowledge is transformed into opportunity, service, and social progress.

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